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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468847">from the earth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivran/pseuds/Rivran'>Rivran</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale thinks Crowley is dead, Crowley also thinks Aziraphale is dead, Everybody Lives, Fake Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, gratuitous use of commas, it’s a little bit funny once you get past the fake corpse thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:41:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivran/pseuds/Rivran</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you were dead,” gasped his angel.<br/>“Me?” Crowley shook his head and buried it in his angel’s shoulder. “Like I matter! I thought you were dead.”<br/>Aziraphale looked at him and oh, the love in his eyes could have bowled him over. “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid I’ve made quite the mess of things.”</p><p>this is a flimsy excuse to write a HEAVY dose of fake-death-angst and a decent serving of emotional reunion. enjoy :)</p><p>work and chapter titles from Like Real People Do by Hozier</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i would not ask and neither would you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for: descriptions of fatal injuries, burns, stab wounds, alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts, and fake character death.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was asleep when it happened.</p><p>Of course he was asleep, it was barely seven in the morning! And he’d had a long night of drinking with Aziraphale - the kind of drinking where he wasn’t really sure how he’d returned to his flat, and he’d forgotten how to keep away the hangover.</p><p>So Crowley was asleep. Deeply so. He intended to sleep until noon at the very latest, unless something absolutely, dreadfully important came up. He’d thought about this very hard before passing out in his bed the night before. A sort of warning for Fate – <em>don’t you dare wake me up, or I swear to Someone I’ll start the apocalypse again out of pure spite</em>.</p><p>Really, he should know better.</p><p>He was asleep when he heard the noise in his sitting room.</p><p><em>Well. That’s bad</em>.</p><p>He threw himself out of bed, with all the stability of a toddler on stilts. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he opened the door to the sitting room. He saw the front door ajar. He saw the trail of blood on his new rug. He saw the pale figure draped over the coffee table. <em>Angelic</em>. His sleepy mind didn’t quite recognise the presence. He pushed himself forward, ready to fight this intruder out of his flat.</p><p>The figure looked up at Crowley. One hand reached up, just slightly, begging him for help. But there was nothing to do. He was frozen, staring in shock. White hair. Beige waistcoat. Massive, bloody, burning wound in the chest.</p><p>His angel looked up at him. One word took shape on his lips, but it seemed there was no strength left to say it. But it was plain as day to the one it was addressed to.</p><p><em>Crowley</em>.</p><p>He was asleep when he heard the door crash open, but he was awake when he felt the presence disappear. He was awake when he saw the body fall.</p><p>If you had asked him how it felt (a very bad idea at the time), he would have described it like someone had stabbed his stomach with a carving fork and twisted his entire body into one mass of pain. He moved, finally, too late. His treacherous legs carried him closer to his angel. No, not his angel. The body.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he tried to say. The word stuck in his throat like a stone. He crashed to his knees, not caring who heard the noise. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, anymore.</p><p>“Angel,” he said, and that was the one that broke him. He threw himself</p><p>He pulled at the blackened coat. He didn’t want to look. The gaping chest wound had been horrible enough. But he had to see. He had to know what had happened to his angel. The coat tore off in pieces in his hands. And he was right – he really shouldn’t have done it. Charred fabric gave way to burned, blackened skin. Under the skin, where it had fallen away? That didn’t bear repeating.</p><p>Crowley could smell the Hellfire on him. How could he not? It was so familiar, even though the memory was so long ago. Once you experience something like that, the horror of it never leaves the mind.</p><p>“No,” he croaked. His angel smelled like Hell itself had burned him up from the inside out. There was no way he would have survived it. That much flame wouldn’t make an angel fall, it would destroy their very essence. Nothing could have saved him.</p><p>“NO,” he repeated. He screamed it. He whispered it. “You can’t be dead. You can’t,” he pleaded. He scrabbled at the slash in the front of the shirt, desperately trying to heal it. Even being able to close over the skin would have flattened him with relief. But there was no healing a body without a spark of life. Nothing happened. He sat, cradling the empty shell that had once been his best friend.</p><p>Crowley sat on his floor, hunched over his angel’s dead body, and cried. He screamed. He shook the body, shouting <em>please, Aziraphale, don’t be dead, I can’t live if you die, please, no</em>. He pressed his face into the shoulder and fell apart.</p><p>“God,” he sobbed. “why? How dare You? I can’t – I don’t know what to do.” He let the body fall from his arms. “How could You?”</p><p>Crowley stood, now. He looked at the ceiling, as if something as insignificant as his gaze could open a line to Heaven and he could go scream at God himself. He was certain this had something to do with Her directly. All the worst things in his life did.</p><p>“I loved him, you know,” he mumbled. “Like a fool. He was my only friend, and I took him for granted. After – after everything. And…” something stung his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was the Hellfire or just more sobs. “And I never said a damned thing about it. He never knew. I’m a coward, and I deserve it.” He slumped, suddenly exhausted. The coffee table creaked under his sudden weight.</p><p>“This is all my fault,” he said to the empty room. “I killed you. Didn’t I?” He glanced over at the body still on the floor. Looked back, and there was a bottle of some dark liquid on the other side of the table. Damned if it was seven in the morning, he was getting drunk, <em>now</em>. If he had learned anything from the first time Aziraphale died, it was that alcohol always made it better.</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” he said, looking at the corpse, “it might be a good thing. If you’re really dead.” He poked at it with one leg, from his newfound position on the floor. “Can’t get in trouble, with – with Hell, if you aren’t around. Nobody to distract me from my work, right?”</p><p>“S’pose it doesn’t matter if you’re dead though. And not just dis- discor- agh. Dis cor por at ed. There.” Crowley was incredibly drunk at this point. He was rather hoping the amount he was drinking would kill him. If he’d been human, it might have worked. But Crowley was immortal.</p><p>“That’s the shit end of the stick, isn’t it, angel? Being immortal. You’ve gone somewhere I can’t follow. Didn’t you promise me, once?” Tears streamed uninvited down his cheeks. “You said you would stay. I wanted you to stay.”</p><p>“Who did this to you?” he asked, not for the first time that morning. “I’ll find them. I’ll kill ‘em. The bastards. Nobody takes my angel away from me.” Crowley took another swig from his bottle. “You know I wouldn’t say that if you could hear me. Damn coward, I am. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re dead,” and he started crying again, “and you can’t hear me. Not ever again.” He curled up in a ball on the floor. “I'm going to die here,” he announced. "If you don't mind." The empty air didn’t respond. <br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>Aziraphale was diligently waiting for Crowley when he heard the noise. They were planning on having brunch at a lovely little café in Mayfair. Crowley would come waltzing through the shop door and whisk him off in that deathtrap of a car.</p><p>Any minute now.</p><p>Aziraphale turned the page in his book, though he was slightly distracted. Crowley was nearly thirty minutes late. That was rare these days. He had just risen from his chair in the back room when he heard the front door open.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley, how lovely to see you!” He came bustling out, taking the book with him. “I was worried something had… happened…” He trailed off. He dropped the book. “Oh, my dear, what on earth got to you?”</p><p>He ran to catch the swaying figure. Angry red blisters covered half his face. His shirt was torn and damp. He looked, for all purposes, a right mess.</p><p>“Not… Earth,” the demon rasped. “Hell… got me.” His voice sounded so unlike himself that Aziraphale wanted to cry.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Aziraphale reassured him, because he was a Principality, and his job was to protect. He could do it. “I can heal you. Let me heal you,” he pleaded. “Crowley, please, let me fix this.”</p><p>But the demon pulled away from him. “Can’t,” was the only response. And then Aziraphale understood. Crowley was burned, yes, but not from any normal source. He sensed the holiness soaking the shirt, mingling with the demon’s own blood.</p><p>Holy water. Crowley was going to die, and there was nothing to be done.</p><p>“Please,” Aziraphale said. “Please.” But there was nothing to plead, and certainly no one left to hear it. For Crowley had gone, just like that, without any fanfare or drama or the slightest sound. He was there, and then he wasn’t. Simple as that.</p><p>Aziraphale watched in horror as Crowley’s body fell to the ground. The angel knew, of course, that his friend was dead. But the sound of lifeless flesh hitting the floor made it so much worse.</p><p>“No, please, Crowley, <em>no</em>,” he said, desperately. “You can’t – I can’t – no. No.” He lifted the dead demon, pulling the chest close to listen for breathing, or a heartbeat, or even the faint sound of simple existence. There was nothing. The angel felt hot tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He laid the demon’s body gently on the couch, as if that would make any difference, and covered him with a blanket. He sat, and watched, and thought. No amount of prayer could save Crowley now, so he didn’t bother. It was clear he was dead, though. Simple discorporations didn’t leave bodies behind. Crowley’s body was here, therefore Crowley must be dead.</p><p>All the logic in the world couldn’t help the tears streaming down his cheeks.</p><p>“Crowley,” he said, painfully. “Crowley.”</p><p>The body did not stir.</p><p>“Crowley, please,” he begged. “Come back to me. I can’t – I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>The body still did not stir.</p><p>“Please,” he shouted. “Please,” he sobbed. “I love you, you foolish old serpent, come back!”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Crowley was dead. Forever. There was no way to miraculously bring him back, no easy trick. It was just Aziraphale and a burned, broken, lifeless body.</p><p>The angel wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, watching the body on the couch. <em>Just a body</em>, he reminded himself, <em>it’s not Crowley</em>. He was reasonably sure the sun had come up and gone down, but probably not more than once. Not that it mattered, anyway. Crowley wasn’t ever going to meet him for brunch.</p><p><em>He’s dead</em>. “He’s dead,” he tried out loud. <em>He’s dead and you couldn’t save him</em>. “But I tried,” he cries out. “I couldn’t have done anything for him.”</p><p><em>Yes, you could. You could have saved his life, but you’re a terrible angel</em>, said the voice to him. It was starting to sound quite a bit unlike his own inner voice.</p><p><em>I know that</em>. Now that sounded like himself. “Stop, please,” he said out loud. “I can’t bear to have this argument right now. Can’t you just let me mourn him in peace?”</p><p><em>You killed him, you killed him, you killed him</em>, choruses his traitorous mind.</p><p>“No,” he says, but even he doesn’t believe himself. “Stop.”</p><p>Weak.</p><p>“No,” he says, and falls to his knees. “Please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i had a thought, dear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>and they reunite! thank god, honestly, because i don't know what i would do without some softness after last chapter</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley’s phone rang.</p><p><em>His world has just ended, three months after the first time it tried, and his phone is ringing</em>?</p><p>He answered, if only to shout at the caller to <em>leave him alone, don’t you know he’s going through some things right now</em>?</p><p>“Hello?” he said instead.</p><p>“Hey, Crowley,” came Anathema’s voice through the speaker.</p><p>“Hi,” he said stupidly. <em>She doesn’t know, she can’t know, I can’t possibly fucking tell her</em>, he thought.</p><p>“Quick question. Are you and Aziraphale in any trouble right now? Or were you, today?”</p><p>And oh, Lord, he didn’t even know where to start. He released a great, shaking, painful sob, and the other end of the line went quiet.</p><p>“Crowley?” she said.</p><p>“What,” he said, with as much venom as he could muster, which wasn’t a lot. It came out more ‘kicked puppy’ than ‘Serpent of Eden’.</p><p>“That settles it,” said Anathema. “Newt and I are coming over. Stay right there, we’ll be there soon.”</p><p>The line rudely went dead before he could yell at her about how bad of an idea that is. He flopped back down on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, well, that’s bad,” said Anathema as soon as she hung up.</p><p>“You don’t say?”</p><p>“I told you I felt that grief, though! And you didn’t believe me,” she said playfully.</p><p>“No, of course I believed you,” Newt said a moment too late. “Anyway, he seemed very upset. I didn’t think he ever got emotional, to be honest,” he admitted. “Something must be horribly wrong.”</p><p>“No,” corrected Anathema. “He only <em>thinks</em> something is horribly wrong.” She got up and started grabbing her things from the kitchen counter. “We have to go to London,” she called back at him.</p><p>Newt looked at her, this maddeningly confusing woman with a razor mind and a frankly unbelievable amount of familial baggage. “Of course, love,” he said. This wasn’t the first time he’d been grateful for the old witch’s blathering prophecy book.</p><p>She was already on the phone by the time he reached the car. Anathema covered the receiver and mouthed, “Aziraphale,” before continuing to listen. He hadn’t asked, or even gestured questioningly. She just knew. He smiled. <em>Well, comes standard with dating a witch</em>. The car wiggled to life with the key in the ignition, and they set off for yet another story that would make Newt’s mum regret letting him move out.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale was stirred from his vigil by his phone ringing. <em>Now, of all times? But it’s dark, </em>he thought, before he realized it’s only seven-thirty and that’s just how time works. He answered the phone anyway.</p><p>“Yes?” he said, too exhausted for a proper greeting.</p><p>“Hi, Aziraphale,” said Anathema.</p><p>“Oh, hello, dear.”</p><p>“Listen, I hate to ask so directly, but I have an important question.”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” he said, wondering what could possibly be happening.</p><p>“Is Crowley with you?” and oh, of course, he just has to get kicked while he’s down.</p><p>“He…” Aziraphale stopped. “Well. He’s not anywhere, now,” he said, and broke down crying again.</p><p>“Oh, my god,” complained Anathema with her hand over the receiver. “First Crowley, and now you. Okay, Aziraphale,” she said louder. “Newt and I are on our way to London right now. We’re going to come pick you up and sort some things out. Alright?”</p><p>“Yes,” is the only response she needed. What she actually got is a long, barely coherent string of rambling. She only caught half of it, and what she did hear sounded like it was in Latin. Or maybe Ancient Greek? </p><p>“Alright, so we’re picking up Aziraphale and finding out what the fuck is going on.”</p><p>“Cool,” agreed Newt.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley had no idea how long it had been since Anathema had hung up on him. Long enough for her to get to London, apparently. “Crowley?” she called through the door of his flat, which he didn’t remember shutting.</p><p>He waved the door open with a thought. Easier than forcing words through his mouth.</p><p>“Crowley,” she said, patiently. “I brought you a present.”</p><p>“I don’t want it,” he said, but rolled over to face the door anyway.</p><p>Anathema and Newt were not there. The figure standing there froze his blood like ice in his veins.</p><p>“Angel?” he whispered. He refused to believe. <em>No, it can’t be real, Aziraphale is dead</em>. He got up, slowly, hardly trusting his legs to hold his weight.</p><p>“Crowley,” shouted Aziraphale, and suddenly Crowley found himself tangled in an angelic embrace. By all means, it should have hurt, but the relief that flooded his body really didn’t leave room for other emotions.</p><p>“I thought you were dead,” gasped his angel.<br/>“Me?” Crowley shook his head and buried it in his angel’s shoulder. “Like I matter! I thought you were dead.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked at him and <em>oh</em>, the love in his eyes could have bowled him over. “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid I’ve made quite the mess of things.”</p><p>“I… what?”</p><p>“My dear,” he repeated, because he liked saying it the first time. “My <em>love</em>. You have no idea what today has been like.” Crowley just stared at him, wordlessly, so Aziraphale continued. “I thought – no, I was convinced – you were dead. You died, darling,” and his entire body was shaking then. “I saw it. Oh, it was horrible, and all I could think about was how I never got to say it.”</p><p>“Say what, angel?” Crowley asked. He was utterly bewildered by this turn of events. Happy, relieved, but still baffled.</p><p>“That I love you,” he said simply.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s face turned slightly pink. “I love you, my dear. And I had rather hoped you felt the same.” The arms that had been supporting Crowley withdrew, and he felt himself sliding down to his spot on the floor again. The angel was still talking. “It’s all I was thinking about while I sat vigil over your – well, not yours, but somebody’s body. But of course, that’s fine, I wouldn’t expect you to return my affections. It’s perfectly natural, me being an angel and you being…”</p><p>This time, it was Crowley who did the engulfing in their hug. “Angel,” he said thickly. “Shut up.”</p><p>And he did.</p><p>Of course, it was rather difficult to speak when one’s mouth was being occupied with kissing your mortal enemy. Crowley held him there, selfishly, hoping to Someone listening that his angel would give him this one indulgence. To his delight, the angel kissed him right back. Suddenly Crowley had hands on his waist, and Aziraphale was pulling him closer. <em>Closer</em>. To <em>him!</em> While they were <em>kissing!</em></p><p>“Aziraphale,” he said at last, “I think I may need to sit down.”</p><p>“Of course, love.” They sat on Crowley’s couch, pointedly ignoring the dead body on the rug.</p><p>Anathema poked her head back in. “Oh, good, you’re not making out anymore.” She walked up to the corpse on the rug as if it were a normal, everyday activity for her. “So do you want to figure out what this is, or…?” She rolled it over and grimaced at the face.</p><p>“I know,” said Crowley. “Seems so real, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“No,” she said, surprising him. “It’s a really shitty glamour. Honestly, I don’t know how you didn’t notice.” She kicked the body and the glamour melted away.</p><p>“Oh, fuck, I mourned an Eric? Really?”</p><p>“That’s your biggest problem with all this?” asked Anathema, shocked.</p><p>“Well… Aziraphale’s not dead, you’re not dead, I’m not dead, and my flat is still standing.” Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, basically.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked at him with an expression that made his stomach twist itself in a knot. “You are ridiculous, my love,” he said. And Crowley couldn’t help but smile at that.</p><p>“Yes, well,” he said, and pecked the angel on the cheek. “Lucky for me, I love you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading! feel free to leave me a comment and feed the attention beast within :) and PLEASE let me know if i need to tag anything else! i'm new to the whole violent angst thing and I don't know where the lines are</p></blockquote></div></div>
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